Wayne's Boys: Flashback
by KatHarkness-Katara
Summary: From reality-warping crises to Kryptonian temper tantrums, history has changed a time or two. Here's my version. Companion to Wayne's Boys: Family Ties. No slash; some romance in later chapters. Rated for mild language and violent themes.
1. Chapter 1: Bruce be Bat

**AN: Welcome to the back-story to my Wayne's Boys series. This chapter is an edited version of the chapter that appeared previously with what is now Family Ties. Parts of it are based on the Batman: Year One story published in the Eighties. Enjoy; and please review to tell me what you thought. Any questions, review or PM me.**

**Wayne's Boys: Flashback 1 Bruce Be Bat**

A dark alleyway. A child's laugh. Streetlights reflecting off metal. Demands, _"Gimme your money! Quick! An' those pearls…"_ A plea, _"Fine, just stay calm, whatever you wish…_" A gunshot. Another. Two bodies hitting the ground. Running footsteps. Wailing. A boy kneeling in pools of blood between the bodies of his parents. His parents. Dead. No! Nononono…

"No!" A twenty-year-old man with black hair and blue eyes sat up sharply in bed, his chest heaving. With a shake of his head he tossed the not infrequent nightmare away. Shivering slightly, he dressed in the dark and quietly left the manor.

He ran, swiftly and softly, through the gardens, to a fenced-off section. Beyond the fence were rows of gravestones. He slowed down and paced between the rows, until he reached a pair somewhat newer than the rest. One read 'Thomas Wayne', the other 'Martha Wayne'.

"Hey, Mom, Dad," the man said, kneeling by the graves. "I haven't forgotten you. I know I've been gone for four years, but I'm back. I'm back and I'm ready to start cleaning the streets of the filth that took you."

He sighed. "It could be harder than I thought. I haven't been back a week, and already I'm pulled in so many directions. Parties, gala concerts, fundraisers. Alfred thinks I should go to enough to keep up appearances. He says if I don't, it'll be betraying your legacy. I don't know. It's hard enough to run Wayne Enterprises…

"There's one thing I've agreed to with no regrets. You know Jack and Janet Drake, the neighbours? Turns out they still don't have a godfather for their year-and-a-half son. They asked me. I'm flattered. He's a lovely boy, little Timmy. Got his dad's blue eyes and his mom's black hair. Alfred reckons he looks a lot like I did at that age. But I get the impression he…irritates his parents somehow. And I hear they're going off on another archaeological dig in a few weeks. I can't help wondering if they chose me just because they felt they needed to find someone before they left. I don't care. I'm going to do my best either way.

"I think Alfred's hoping I'll find a girl, settle down, have children. Give up on the mission. But I haven't. Even. Started. And I won't give up until you're avenged. Not until the circumstances that allowed your deaths are torn down forever."

He rose, brushing dirt from his knees. "Rest easy. I'm on it."

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A few days later, he was preparing to go out in a rather unusual way. Instead of a crisp suit, he wore a slightly ragged, slightly dirty army uniform. He also applied a thin layer of make-up, darkening his complexion, and added a pale scar on the side of his face. Tonight, he was starting his mission.

He walked through Gotham, paying little attention to his surroundings. Before too long, he was in the bad part of town. Admittedly, most of Gotham was the bad part of town, but this was the worst. He turned down Park Row, aka Crime Alley. The place where his parents died. He wasn't alone. A hundred metres away, a dozen youths were gathered around a pair of teenage girls in tight jeans and skimpy shirts. The boys seemed to be jeering. As he approached, he could make out their words.

"C'mon, girls, put out."

"Gimme a kiss, gorgeous."

"You know we'll have our fun anyway. Why make it hard on yourself?"

The leader of the boys leaned against one of the girls. "Come on, sweetheart," he said. "Fun time." His hand reached down the back of her jeans. She yelped. The boys laughed.

His blood started to boil at the sight. This was what he was fighting, because the girls couldn't. He could. He stepped forward. "Boys," he said. "I don't think the little ladies like you."

Most of the youths turned. Three stayed focused on the girls. Not the leader. He stepped forward. "Maybe we don't care what you think," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. "Maybe you should run off now."

'_They don't fear me,'_ he thought, lunging for the knife. As he disarmed the leader and knocked him down, the others started pulling knives. _'I can't do this mission unless I can make them fear me,'_ he continued to himself, fighting back. As he knocked out one youth, another got in a strike, drawing blood. He kept going. The remaining three joined in, and the girls fled. _'That's the civilians gone,'_ he thought. _'Now to win the fight.'_

After a seeming eternity, the youths were laid out before him. He staggered back, reeling from multiple knife wounds. All his training hadn't prepared him for the reality of a street fight. Next time, he would need to be better prepared. Better equipped. But how to make them fear him?

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Somehow, he made it home. He collapsed in an armchair, feeling the breeze from an open window. He mused, thinking of how and why something that should have been easy went so wrong. The League of Shadows had cultivated a reputation inspiring fear in their opposition and his training had reflected that. Without the weight of that fear, his independent actions were unimposing. He just didn't make an impact…The blood was still flowing from his wounds. At least Alfred had trained in combat medicine- how fortunate was that?- and could treat him when he called for him. But that wasn't important. He needed to know how to move forward with the mission.

"Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot," he muttered, thinking of the guns they hid behind. "How can I use that to my advantage?"

His head seemed to be floating; that would be the blood loss. He heard a noise, and looked up. A bat came through the window. It had been in a fight; there was blood on its muzzle. Its shadow stretched behind it menacingly. Half smiling, half grimacing, the man rung a bell.

"Master Bruce?" An older man looked in, then hurried over.

"I shall become a bat," Bruce whispered.


	2. Chapter 2: Bat Meet Cat

**AN: Welcome back to the past. Some passages of this chapter are partially based on the Batman: Year One storyline.**

**Flashback 2: Bat Meet Cat**

Selina Kyle lounged on her sofa, watching the breakfast news reports on TV. It always paid to be aware of the world around them. After all, you never knew when the local museums or art galleries would be getting new treasures ripe for a good heist. Her friend Holly sat curled on the floor next to her.

"Breaking news. In Gotham, the mysterious Bat-Man has been sighted. Commissioner Loeb has given orders for the SWAT team to contain him." The footage cut to a burning warehouse. "Our press helicopter is now broadcasting live."

Holly sat up. "Selina, that's near here," she said. "Can we go see?"

"'S too early," Selina muttered. "Darn cat, always wanting fed. I'd put him out, if he weren't so cute."

"Se-_li_-na," Holly whined. "Please?"

"Never should have taken in a Siamese," she continued. "Too noisy. And it's not even light out yet."

"It's winter, Selina, it's always dark. Please?"

"And cold." She eyed the pleading girl for a few more seconds. "Fine. C'mon."

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When they got there, a small crowd was already starting to form. The SWAT team were standing by, waiting for the flames to die down. Leaning against one of the cars, the papers' favourite 'hero' cop Lieutenant James Gordon was having a nasty scrape on the side of his head looked at. He was grumbling something about "he saved that homeless guy" and "overkill".

The SWAT team went into the now smouldering, but relatively safe, building, rifles at the ready. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by footsteps, the crackle of Gordon's radio, and the low murmuring of the watching crowd. Then there was a loud 'thud!' reverberating through the rubble.

"Team One down! Team One down!" the radio squawked. "He's not dead! Repeat, he's not dead! Team One trapped!"

The crowd fell silent, as the ruins erupted in gunfire and screams. Anyone who could cause the SWAT boys so much trouble was a force to be reckoned with; their notoriety had peaked two months ago, when the quelling of a riot in Robinson Park had not left even the statues standing. So for one man to give them so much grief…Selina's heart filled with admiration, though she had not met or even seen him yet. The radio filled the air with increasingly frightened swearing. The frustration sounded so much more satisfying than the sweetest opera. Even Gordon looked faintly amused. Then, a pair of black-gloved hands could be seen throwing a cat out an opening. The cat landed gracefully on a van, and jumped straight at Selina. She caught it, calming it and stroking its silky black fur. The sun was just starting to cut through the gloom, highlighting the ruffled fur and sleek tail.

A gravelly, angry voice growled, partly over the radio, partly from the wreck of a building. "You! You're the one who tried to shoot the cat!" One of the members of the SWAT team came out, thrown through the wall- literally through it. Then the sky darkened once more.

Selina looked up, the scared cat in her arms digging claws into her coat. The sunlight was being blocked, not by a cloud, but by a flock- swarm? - of bats. She shrieked and ducked, pulling Holly down with her. She wasn't the only one. The watching crowd became a panicking horde.

And through the chaos, Selina could see a single figure, moving urgently but without fear. A man in dark grey and black; a man with pointed ears atop a cowl concealing his face; a man with a wing-like cape.

A man she wanted to know more of.

A man who was a bat.

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Selina lay on her side, idly stroking the black cat rescued from the warehouse. Holly had already started calling her Felina. Sweet, but _really not clever!_

Her butt ached as if a two-inch needle had been stuck in it; which it had. The entire crowd had been inoculated as treatment for their bat bites. Felina had waited outside the hospital, then followed her home. Her other cats seemed to be leaving, either scared off by Felina, or creeped out by the bat smells. A pity, but well. That's just cats.

Selina was thinking hard, her eyes resting on a bullwhip on her dresser. She'd picked it up the previous week while casing a joint. There'd been screams coming from an apartment. She'd looked in. An S&M callgirl had been getting beaten up by her client with the whip, the handle smashing across her face and leaving a bloody streak along her cheek, before curling round so the end flicked against her barely-clad legs. She'd recognised the client, a dirty Gotham cop. She'd slipped through the window.

She'd heard him saying nasty, taunting things to the poor girl, that she was just another piece of skirt to be taught respect. She'd lost it, taking him down using brutal moves learned on the streets, tempered with the grace of a life-long gymnast and roof-runner. She'd given the girl a roll of bills from her last theft (she didn't need it as much as the callgirl) and left, taking the whip with her.

Now, she wondered if she'd done enough. Her mind reeled at the thought. Though three days had passed since then, she kept replaying it, haunted slightly by Gordon's words, placing responsibility for a rescued hobo at Batman's feet. Breaking down each action, she saw how it might have gone without her being there. Might have ended with another dead hooker. Another cop getting away scot-free. At least word on the street said Batman was standing up to the corruption. Gotham needed more like him. But she didn't have his skills. Hers were different…

"Holly! Where's the cheapest place to get grey velvet?"

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She pulled the hood over her head and face, once again admiring the sleek costume she and Holly had made. The form-fitting velvet bodysuit accentuated her curves like nothing else. Padding on the hood gave her ears, a rolled up length of the velvet a tail, sharpened bits of metal added fake 'nails' on her gloves, mimicking claws. She really looked like her namesake.

She was the best cat burglar in Gotham, maybe America, maybe even the world. She was putting her skills to good use. Over the last week she'd stolen the Mayor's landscape collection, and Commissioner Loeb's pop memorabilia. Hard to find fence for that…Now she was after the jewels of Carmine Falcone, the Roman. Gotham's biggest mobster.

She got close to the mansion in short order, surprising the first two guards. But four more came out with handguns and assault rifles, and then the Roman himself. She used her whip to disarm the first two guards, attracting the wrong sort of attention. A bullet grazed her fingers as she flipped back, making her drop her weapon. She moved with all her speed and agility, but it wasn't enough. There were too many guns and not enough room to manoeuvre.

"Freeze, little kitty," one of the remaining thugs leered, before toppling forward. The others followed his example in collapsing a domino chain of thugs, metallic shards visible above their collars. Falcone charged Selina in a rage, giving her no time to think. Whatever had brought down the thugs wouldn't protect her from the kitchen knife he'd clearly just grabbed as he rushed out. Her claws raked across his face, as he followed his hired muscle into the dirt. Selina looked at him, then glanced up.

A dark shadow on the rooftop. Pointed ears. Wings. The Bat?

"Be careful, Catwoman," his voice rang out, gravelly yet strangely tender, almost…amused? "Thievery gets you jail time."

As she watched him glide away, Selina knew truly. This man, this bat, this creature of the night, was one with whom she was now completely, irrevocably in love. And he hadn't looked at her twice.

But she was a woman and a cat, if no less a creature of the night. As a woman, she'd never let him go. As a cat, she'd never let him know.

And as a creature of the night, she'd stalk her prey 'til the dawn, each and every night.

**AN2: Okay, so there we go. Hopefully you enjoyed it. If so, why not leave me a review? In fact, why not leave a review whatever you thought of it? Any questions about the content or anything else, feel free to ask in a review or PM. To my long-term readers, next week we will be returning to Gotham in the present over in Family Ties. See you there.**

**Thanks for reading everyone.**

**Katara**


	3. Chapter 3: Show's Over

**Wayne's Boys: Flashback 3: Show's Over**

Bruce held still while Alfred stitched his shoulder. The latest in a long line of injuries stung beneath the needle and thread. His mind drifted from Alfred's words, thinking of mobsters, corruption and protection rackets. The rackets were expanding and he couldn't get a solid lead. Then Alfred's words penetrated his inner musings. "Circus tickets?"

"Yes, sir," Alfred said patiently. "You need a night off, and Bruce Wayne needs to be seen."

"Hmm." He had been working hard, and taking quite a lot of hits. Alfred had a point. If he took some time off, cleared his head, maybe he'd see something he was overlooking. And the circus _was_ better than some society ball surrounded by women with a hankering for his money and the belief that he'd fall for a few batted eyelids. No thanks; he'd had enough of that in the last few days to last the rest of the month. "What's the circus called?"

"Haly's. The headline act is a trapeze trio called the Flying Graysons."

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Dick Grayson, son of John and Mary and youngest member of the trapeze act the Flying Graysons, was buzzing with excitement. Tonight, for the first time, he was performing without a net. Although his parents were used to it, they'd insisted on the net when he started performing at age five. Now, another five years later, he was flying free.

And he loved the thought of it.

He and his parents were checking out the crowd before the evening show, but Dick could not stay still, cartwheeling and flipping as though he had dynamite in his shoes. His mom had given up trying to make him keep still, and resorted to merely pulling him away from the crowd when he got too close. Now he was doing handsprings off the roof of their caravan. He flipped, spinning into his signature quadruple somersault…

…And landed almost on top of a smaller boy below.

"Woah!" he gasped, springing to his feet and picking the kid up. "Sorry! Guess I wasn't looking before leaping." The kid looked to be no more than two; he was light as a feather in his arms. Despite his youth, he was lean, and very well-dressed. Just like a little gentleman, except for the dirt now dusting his pants. "What's your name?" Dick asked.

"Tim," the boy answered shyly, unnerved by the exuberant young acrobat.

"Well, Timmy, I'm Dick. Where have your parents gone?" He looked around, but there seemed to be no anxious adults looking for any lost children. His own parents were on the other side of the caravan. Tim seemed to realize that he was alone at the same time and whimpered slightly, glancing round in fear. "Don't be scared. They're bound to be around here somewhere," Dick told him. Tremulously, Tim nodded.

"Dick?" Mary Grayson came round the caravan, closely followed by a black-haired woman with hard brown eyes. He looked down at the child still in his arms, seeing the resemblance between the toddler and the woman. Their hair and facial features were very similar, from the tone of their lips to the shape of the eye socket. But Tim's eyes were a delicate sky-blue, not hazel, comparable but not identical to his own clear ice-blue.

Tim squirmed, and Dick gently set him down. He walked over to his mother, very properly, then looked back and smiled shyly.

"Thank you, Dick," Mary said. "Mrs Drake was wondering where he was."

"Sorry, mother," Tim said, hanging his head. "I didn't mean to get lost."

Mrs Drake's eyes flashed dangerously. Feeling strangely protective, Dick opened his mouth to draw attention from the younger boy. Before he could speak, however, his dad and a man with Tim's eyes came over from another direction. "There they are!" John said, smiling broadly. "No worries, Mr Drake."

"Dick, did you get your costume dirty?" Mary sighed.

He looked down, brushing dust from his sequined leotard. "It's fine."

"You're a performer?" Tim asked, eyes wide.

"Uh-huh. It's my first night without a net!" His parents rolled their eyes. Tim looked scared. "I'm not worried. I haven't fallen in years. It's so cool!"

Tim's eyes grew wide. "Can I have a photograph?" he asked, darting looks from Dick to his mother and back again.

"Well-" Mrs Drake started, interrupted by Mary's giggle at Dick's obvious enthusiasm. "Oh, why not?" Tim's mother sighed, pulling out a digital camera.

Dick crowed with delight, loving the attention, scooping up Tim and kneeling in front of their parents. The camera was handed to a passing clown, a flash, and they broke up.

"You'll see me in the ring, Timmy," Dick called out, as he left to prepare.

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Timothy Drake had failed his parents, and in a variety of different ways. He had moved from their line of sight. He had got in the way of the young acrobat. He had got dirt on his clothes. And he had acted in a childish and unbecoming manner; begging for a photograph like that.

But Dick Grayson had been thrilled. He was so…so…frivolous? Yes, that was the word. Frivolous. His parents hated it when _he_ bounded around, but the Graysons were only amused. When they looked at their son, there was something in their eyes, a certain look he'd never seen in his own parents' eyes. It felt like it should be important, but he had no experience with it, and not enough facts.

He carefully filed it away for later consideration. The show was starting.

It was all he could have hoped for. The beautifully adorned elephant opening the show. The strong man, lifting a car and four glitzy ladies. A bunch of clowns emerging from the car and filling the ring with their light-hearted tomfoolery. The lions, scary teeth and claws, yet gently toying with their handler. Then, finally, the Flying Graysons.

It started very slow and proper, ringmaster Haly introducing them as the only three people in the world to have mastered the quadruple somersault. Dick, going first as a solo, began with the simplest of swings and flips, going slowly as if to let the audience appreciate each separate move and hypnotizing Tim with the rhythm. Then he stepped up the pace; almost flying around the ring, still pausing between every move for a moment yet clearly thrumming with energy. Finally, he twisted round with one hand on the trapeze, flinging himself back into the centre of the ring. He curled up, spinning once, twice, thrice, four times before uncurling and landing on a low platform halfway between the heights of the big top and the ground. He turned and bowed as the crowd erupted, before the spotlight flicked off him, returning to the heights and his parents. Tim was ever so slightly disappointed; he wanted to see Dick again. But there'd probably be a bit with all three at the end.

John and Mary's routine was more graceful, gliding rather than flying, apparent from the first moves. John hung by his knees, catching Mary's arms, and then…

And then they fell. Tim rose to his feet, moving forward in horror, as both acrobats hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

What? This couldn't be part of the show. No way. This couldn't be happening…

The child aerialist flung himself forward from his platform, somersaulting again to land by his parents. The other circus folk descended, blocking the scene, as the crowd's confused murmuring was drowned out by a child's wail.

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Dick clutched his parents' still-entwined hands. His mom's neck was at an impossible angle; his dad's head leaking blood. Neither were breathing; neither were responding to his touch. Pop Haly bent down next to him, touching their necks. He slowly shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Dick," he crooned. "They're…they're gone."

Tears poured down his face. Sobs caught in his chest. He could still hear the whispers surrounding him as Pop Haly wrapped his arms around him. "Poor boy…so young…terrible accident…" The last one stirred a memory in his addled brain.

"Accident?" he asked. "Like what that man said?"

Pop Haly stiffened. "Dick, I swear, if I'd known…I didn't know the protection racket were serious."

"They killed…Mom and Dad?" Pop Haly nodded. Why? What could possibly make someone do this? What had his parents done? It made no sense. "Will they be punished?"

A sigh. "I don't know. If we had their names…"

Anger flared in Dick's chest. He wanted the man punished, wanted revenge, wanted something, anything that would make the pain go away. "Heard 'em talking" he said. "Heard a name. Tony. Tony Zucco."

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Not far away, Bruce Wayne was lurking. The skills he used on the streets worked just as well in the unevenly-lit circus tent. His acutely sharp hearing picked up the boy's words, and the tone. And the name.

"Tony. Tony Zucco."

A lead. The poor boy had a lead. Bruce was torn, part glad that he had enough to break the racket, part heart-broken at the child's bereavement. He looked through the crowd and, for a brief second, locked eyes with young Dick Grayson.

He'd never forget the look in his eyes. The cold fury, the grief and pain, the all-consuming desire to _do something_ to make it better.

It was a look that had stared out of the mirror at him since that night thirteen years ago when he lost his own parents. He'd have to do something for this boy.

**AN: Welcome back to the past. As you can see, things are now happening. This is the start of a five-chapter miniseries featuring our favourite aerialist. And, of course, a few others. I hope you're enjoying it, so please review. If you have any questions, drop a PM or leave a review.**

**If you have not read my other Wayne's Boys fic, Family Ties, may I recommend it? I'm also publishing a WB-verse/Dark Knight crossover and a pre-Flashpoint DCU/Marvel Movie-verse crossover, entitled Black and Red and Little Bird's Vengeance respectively. I'm tag-teaming updates on those, and publish for one or the other around the same time I update Wayne's Boys.**

**I also have a number of shorts, mostly Bat-related, that I would be thrilled to have read and reviewed.**

**Back next week.**

**Katara Harkness.**


	4. Chapter 4: Dress Rehearsal

**Wayne's Boys Flashback Chapter 4 Dress Rehearsal**

Bruce watched little Richard Grayson on the security cameras. It was almost a month since the boy had been orphaned and he'd decided to help him due to the burning anger and hurt in his eyes. Half of that time had been spent in a home for juvenile delinquents, just because he was a Romani gypsy boy. When he'd found out, he'd become the lad's legal guardian. Clearly 'the system' was too prejudiced and incompetent to actually care for the children caught up in it.

Now he wasn't sure what to do with the kid. They both knew he could never replace the child's lost family. But Bruce didn't know how to offer Dick a new family. He couldn't be much of a father; he had the Mission instead. He was out most of the time, either fighting crime, down in the cave, or managing his business. The little time spent at home was used to sleep and eat. On top of that he would most likely die young. But now the boy had financial security, and Alfred had taken quite a liking to him. He had a future, if a rather strained one, which was more than when he'd been slung in Juvie.

He'd also had the Graysons interred in Wayne Manor's Cemetery, near his own parents.

But Dick wasn't happy. It was too early to expect him to be the same overly cheery boy he'd been before the 'accident'. It was not as if Bruce had ever really gotten over his parents' death himself, but Dick was just…lifeless.

Maybe justice would help bring back the light to those young eyes. Bruce turned back to the hunt for Zucco.

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Dick had never felt so alone. In the circus they'd been like an extended family, so there was always someone ready to share a mug of hot chocolate and chat about anything and everything for hours. Even in the juvenile detention home, he'd attracted attention; granted the wrong sort of attention…At least he'd known the other boys cared whether or not he was there, if only so they didn't lose the butt of their jokes. But Mr Wayne didn't seem to care. He simply never saw his new guardian. He seemed to have been taken in, and then just left to Alfred.

Alfred was nice. Alfred tried to keep him occupied with books and TV and a computer, seeing as Mr Wayne wanted to give him time before sending him to school. Alfred made him cookies, and taught him cooking (Mr Wayne wasn't allowed in the kitchen). Alfred tucked him in at night, and comforted him when he had nightmares. But it didn't feel right.

Mr Wayne was never there. While he'd spend all day in the office, either at Wayne Tower or in the manor, he'd also vanish right after dinner, and not back to his office. Deeper into the manor. He just…disappeared. Dick was getting fed up with it. Where did he go?

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"Sir, this is not fair on the boy. He needs a father figure."

Bruce tried to ignore Alfred, but this was getting repetitive. "Alfred. Is it _fair_ to give the boy a father only for him to bury another loved one? It's better he doesn't become attached."

"Then why did you take him in?"

Bruce finally tore his eyes from the computer and looked at his butler and surrogate father. "Two reasons. The first was for him. He had no hope, no future, nothing. And I also did it for you, Alfred. I've seen the look in your eyes. You miss the child I was, and fear the day you'll be alone. I can't be his father, but you can be his grandfather."

Alfred was surprised; it was clear as day on his face. "You don't want him yourself? Sir, I believe the slogan "A dog is not just for Christmas" applies even more so to children."

Bruce sighed. "I do. I don't know why, but I do. He's just a kid, and he's in so much pain, just like I was, and I want to make all the hurt go away. I've never felt anything like it before." Alfred smiled at the rare attempt to describe emotion. "But I can't afford to indulge. He would suffer, and the Mission would suffer," he finished.

Alfred sighed, looking heavenwards in exasperation. "Dick's suffering anyway. And the 'Mission' would hardly suffer if you had someone to come home to. If you really care for the boy, let him see it."

As Alfred left, Bruce returned to the computer. But the words stayed in his head, ringing for hours.

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Dick was in shock. It was too much to process. After days of spying, to his disbelief and amazement, he'd found Mr Wayne's secret passage. He'd crept down it, and nearly reached the end when he heard Alfred and Mr Wayne talking. He hid behind the final bend, and listened. Listened to the strange explanation for his new life. Listened to Mr Wayne - Bruce - tell how he gave Alfred a grandson, rather than getting himself a son, but wanted one anyway. He heard the excuse: the mission. What mission? What was this _thing_ keeping him from the man who wanted to be like his father? He hated this mysterious mission.

He heard soft, light footsteps approaching, and scrambled backwards, using the grace he learned in the circus heights to sneak back before he was caught. He ran back up the passage, through the manor and into his bedroom. He collapsed on the bed, thinking of all he'd heard. The initial surprise was wearing off, replaced with relief that he _was _wanted. But it was in turn replaced just as swiftly with anger at Bruce for ignoring him because it was 'for the best' and renewed hatred for 'the mission' that kept the man away.

He lay there for hours, eventually falling asleep still musing on the confused emotion hidden in Bruce's words, and his own that had been unleashed.

The next morning, Dick still couldn't understand it. He kept sneaking glances at Bruce over breakfast, and was startled when he noticed Bruce doing the same thing. Alfred was hovering more than usual, watching intently. What for?

Bruce cleared his throat. Dick looked over. "Uh, Dick?" Bruce said. "Would you like to… I don't know, go to the zoo or something today?"

Dick could hardly believe it. Had Alfred really convinced Bruce to stop ignoring him? He smiled shyly and nodded.

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Bruce was having a lot more fun than he thought he would. Despite bittersweet memories of outings with his own parents too many years ago, the improvement of Dick's mood was wondrous. At first he'd been subdued, almost listless, (and that was his own fault, wasn't it, for ignoring the lad), nothing like the bright, chirpy boy bouncing around the circus. But he cheered up seeing the bears, the big cats, the penguins flying through the water. _'I should have done this weeks ago,'_ thought Bruce, watching as the kid snickered at the bizarre-looking flamingos, before being tugged off to the monkey cages.

"Seriously?! That's not impressive; I can swing around much better than them." The boy glared at the Capuchins and Howlers and Spiders and Orang-Utans, before back-flipping to prove his point. He moved easily into a cartwheel, segued into a triple somersault- and crashed into two girls and their mother.

Hurriedly apologising, Bruce pulled Dick away. "How about you wait until we find a playground? Then you can show me everything." Dick nodded distractedly, and ran off to the Reptile House.

Bruce held _that_ treat off until after lunch, until they reached the elephants. Then Dick's mood plummeted; Bruce almost asked why, before remembering the painted pachyderm that opened the show at Haly's. Hoping to distract the boy, he took him down to the nearest park.

'_I'll have to get the boy a trapeze set for the gym,'_ Bruce mused, watching his ward flip from bar to bar on the climbing frame. He'd been alarmed at first, before remembering the child's comfort within the circus' heights. This was, literally, child's play for him. Not so for the other children imitating him, or their disgruntled parents. "Dick, shall we go get ice-cream now?"

They were halfway through sundaes when Alfred called. _"Sir, I know it's not sundown for an hour, but the GCPD have found Zucco."_

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Dick was confused. When Alfred called, they'd hurried through the rest of the ice-cream and sped off. That was the best part of an hour ago. He'd been forgotten about. Again. What on Earth was Bruce doing?! He crept into the drawing room next to the library, went to the grandfather clock, reached up and moved the hands to the time he'd worked out earlier, 10:47. A bookcase opened, and he slipped down the passage.

He'd never reached the end before. He knew it was damp, and dark, and large. But he'd never imagined the vast cave before him. At the edge was a vast computer bank. Beyond it were side passages. The main body of the cave hosted a jumble of crates and packing cases. Beyond that, a big black car with tail fins. A Batmobile? No, a Batmobile _missing a wheel_?!

The computer screen flashed. Pushing away the shock at what he was seeing, he turned, seeing a file open on Anthony Zucco. "Current location" was highlighted. He swallowed, the pain of his parents' murder overcoming all else. The mystery of the cave could wait.

**AN: Duh duh _duh__!_ Are you excited? Are you thrilled? Are you bored? Please, please, please leave a review. I really want to know what you think of this. If you have questions about the content, or anything at all really, feel free to ask, either in a PM or a review.**

**Be back next week to see what Dick does next, now he knows where to find his parents' murderer...**

**Katara**


	5. Chapter 5: Curtain Call

**Flashback Chapter 5 Curtain Call**

Last year, Harry the clown had tried integrating motorcycle tricks into his act. It didn't work out, but Dick learnt to ride the bike before his dad found out and banned him from it. The reflexes that helped him fly across the circus heights had made him a natural. And now that summer's thrill-seeking let him sneak out, and into Gotham City.

Of course, he could always blame Bruce for leaving the road map and motorbike lying around his…cave.

And the computer telling him where to find his parents' killer.

'_This is stupid. There is no reason why Bruce would have everything I need for vengeance, unless he's taking care of it,'_ the calm, rational part of his mind reasoned. _'The equipment, the computer, the car…he must be financing Batman or something. Do I want to risk angering Batman? Let him take care of it.'_

Dick had stopped listening to the rational part the moment he saw Zucco's name.

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Scooping up Zucco would be easy. With Dick's testimony, a jury could almost certainly be convinced he killed the Graysons. But there was still the question of who was at the top of this particular food chain. Was it Zucco, a small-timer trying to hit big, or was he working for someone else? Carmine Falcone's 'Roman Empire' was collapsing, had been since his lieutenant Sal Maroni maimed Dent and created Two-Face. While this gave newcomers a chance to make their own businesses, it also opened up vacancies in the operations of all the established mobsters.

Batman sighed silently, hardly moving on his perch. Zucco would be followed, his apartment was already bugged, and if nothing else, they'd hear enough to collar his subordinates, who could make plea bargains to testify against Zucco…

It was all easier when Dent had been D.A. and could deal with the courts.

The pager went off. Captain Gordon had the signal on the GCPD roof, but had also been persuaded to take the pager for when he was at a crime scene or similar. He seemed to like beginning a stakeout with a quick summary of what they had, what they needed and what they wanted.

"Captain," Batman said, dropping down next to the policeman leaning against the hood of his car. Inside it, the radio, tuned in to the bug, played Zucco's snoring. As expected, Gordon went over the evidence, the acid-burned rope, Haly's testimony that he'd been told to pay or have a tragic accident, Dick's testimony that one of the men, identified as Tony Zucco, had told the other two to arrange an accident. Probably enough, in Gordon's words, but a good lawyer could say it was all circumstantial. Testimony from his subordinates; a confession; these could make it air-tight. The bug would need backing up. Batman knew this; Gordon knew this. The recap was simply for reinforcement and the long-suffering cop's comfort.

A crash from the radio interrupted them. They both looked at it, hearing the sounds of Zucco startled into wakefulness, then over top the apartment. Batman zipped off, wondering what he'd missed, when a voice came over the radio earpiece. _"Tony Zucco,"_ it said. A girl's voice, or a pre-pubescent boy…Dick.

"_Whu- yeah. Who wants to know?"_

"_You killed my parents."_

"_Huh? Look, kid, I don't know what you think-"_

"_You. Killed. My. PARENTS!"_

A pause. Batman could see both figures through the window. _"You're the Grayson kid."_

"_Yeah. Why? Why'd you kill Mom and Dad?"_

"_That's what you gotta do. Your lot wouldn't play, and you can't have that, not if you want to be a big man. And you're either a big man or a grunt. I'm my own boss. I'm gonna be a big man, and no snot-nosed brat's gonna stop me."_

There was the click of a gun's safety catch being unlatched, and Batman didn't hesitate. He swung forward, barrelling through the window and lunging across the room to knock over and envelope his ward. Zucco's bullet streaked along his shoulder, scoring the Kevlar cape but not penetrating. From his position crouched over the boy, he whipped out a batarang to disarm the mobster, and kicked out to knock him to the floor. "Stay down," he growled.

Movement. Dick rolled to his feet and, quick and nimble, flipped over his protective arm. The boy scooped up the fallen batarang, slick with Zucco's blood, and lunged. Batman grabbed his wrist, the sharp metal shard an inch from the mobster's neck.

"No," he whispered. "It's not worth it." He let the growl drain from his voice, not wanting to scare the lad. Dick looked up at him, ice-blue eyes wide, lips moving silently. _"Bruce…"_

Gordon came through the already open door. Batman swept aside, pulling Dick with him. The cop holstered his handgun, and pulled out cuffs instead. "Anthony Zucco, you're under arrest for extortion, the murders of John and Mary Grayson, and two counts of the attempted murder of Richard Grayson." Gordon proceeded to recite the rights, leading his prisoner out.

Batman looked at the trembling child in his arms, put a finger to his lips to quiet him, and turned off the bug. "How did you get here?" he asked.

"Saw the address on the computer, in the cave. Borrowed a bike…"

Batman nodded. "We'll find another reason, for Gordon. Why did you come?"

"I had to know why. What my parents were to him. I just didn't get it. Not sure I do now…"

Gordon's footsteps on the stairs. "You're Wayne's ward now, aren't you son?" Dick nodded. "I'll have to call him to pick you up." Dick then completely defied everyone's expectations by flinging his arms around Batman's waist.

"I'll take care of it, Jim," he said, unwilling to dislodge his boy.

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Dick sat on the Batmobile's hood, hugging his left knee and idly kicking his right heel. Bruce- Batman- had told him to stay put for now, then abandoned him again. At last, their butler and almost-grandfather showed up. "Alfred, what's Bruce doing?"

"Tearing your room apart to find out how long you've known."

"I didn't know," Dick blurted. "I knew there was a secret basement thing here, I didn't see the cave 'til tonight, then I thought Bruce was just bank-rolling or something…"

Alfred sat next to him and patted his back. "Master Bruce is obsessed with cleaning up crime, as a form of justice for his parents. He calls it his Mission."

Dick tilted his head, the pieces falling into place. "I want in." Even as he said it, the idea flooded through him, and he realised how true the words were. He really olpokwanted nothing more than to do what Batman did. "I want justice, too. And if I'm watching Bruce's back, he'll be safer, right?"

"Master Bruce would never allow it."

"Please, Alfred, help me. I think I know how to make him accept me."

Alfred examined the boy who was now family in spirit as well as in law. Learning Bruce's identity had inspired the boy, and if the lad's past was anything to go by, he had difficulty grasping the concept of danger. He'd get himself killed, if Bruce didn't train him, and if he didn't manage to prove himself a little first. Turning him down could end up a death sentence. And hadn't Bruce admitted he wanted the boy as his son? That was exactly what Dick wanted; to be Batman's son. "Very well. But you'll need an outfit, and a name."

Dick slipped off the car, rolling forward and flipping onto his hands. Still upside down, he jumped and turned, looking back at Alfred. "I have an idea," he said, and the mischievous grin Zucco had wiped from his face began to reappear.

**AN: Okay, who gets worried when Dick has an idea? Who thinks _Bruce_ should be worried? Who thinks this is stupid and I shouldn't bother writing it? Seriously, guys, I _know_ you're reading this. But none of you are telling me what you think of it! (Except Glimare and PrincessofBadLuck. Thanks, guys.) This means I am, regrettably, unable to tell if you think this is good or not. Bit off-putting. Please, for the sake of my muse's self-confidence, leave a review. Any questions about what's going on, ask in a review or PM.**

**Next week, we will see Dick's idea. Or maybe they will all get killed. Who can tell?**

**Katara**


	6. Chapter 6: From Tragedy

**Flashback Chapter 6 From Tragedy**

Dick flipped, landed on his hands, kicked. Rolled upright, left, right, high kick. Spin, punch. Vault, duck, sweep. He'd been watching Bruce train. And adapting the routines to his own ability and acrobatic style. When he had it perfect, he'd show Bruce. Hopefully, he'd be impressed.

At the roar of an approaching motorbike, he slipped from combat to floor routines; the flips and somersaults his dad had made him practise to build up strength, flexibility and grace for the heights. The bike pulled into the cave, and the rider dismounted, pulling of his helmet. Dick stopped flipping, turning to the brown-haired man. "Need help getting that dye out, Bruce?" he called.

"No, it just brushes out," Bruce replied, popping out yellowed contact lenses that turned his blue eyes green.

"How did it go?" Dick asked, bounding along behind him and standing on tip-toe to lean on the back of the Bat-computer's chair as Bruce sat down.

"It's confirmed." Bruce pulled up a file and started annotating. "The vat at Ace Chemical contains substances that bleach the skin and turn the hair green. The workers wear gas masks to prevent fume inhalation, because there's some evidence long term exposure can cause psychosis. No studies on the effect of prolonged immersion."

"So, Red Hood breaks into a chemical factory, runs into you, falls into a vat, crawls out the Joker. Month later, hijacks a news studio's transmission to announce his upcoming crimes." He flicked his eyes over to the left screen, showing two dead bodies, their faces stuck in rictus grins. "Henry Claridge. Time release poison, Claridge Diamond replaced with glass. Jay Wilde. Double exposure poison, Ronkers Ruby stolen."

"It's a distraction," Bruce grunted. "Not after the jewels, testing his poisons."

"How can you tell?"

"He's using different methods. The first worked fine; practically impossible to guard against. Why change it when attacking the second man?"

Before Dick could reply, the right hand screen beeped. A program had flagged up an interruption to the news channel. A chalk-white man, with green hair and a fixed grin, was speaking.

"_Judge Lake has…irritated me, a time or two. He will suffer for it. And Bruce Wayne shall lose his fine Van Derm pearls, and his life._"

The screen returned to the news, and Dick swore in his native Romani. Bruce shot him a disapproving look- he'd been learning the language and Dick now was much more familiar than he'd care to admit on what dish soap tasted like. Oops. "Be fair, Bruce," the boy said. "You gotta admit, this is just a bit of a problem."

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Harvey Bullock finished examining the pearls, handing them back to their owner. "Well, they're not fakes," he grunted. "Why are they called 'Van Derm'?"

"They were my great-great-great-grandmother's," Wayne said quietly, "She was Van Derm before she married into the Waynes."

Bullock raised an eyebrow, but before he could comment, a young voice echoed through the manor. "BruceBruceBruceBruceBruce!" The study door banged open, and a black haired cyclone swept in, resolving itself into a little kid as he jumped at Wayne. "Bruce, I finished my homework," he announced cheerfully, hanging from the billionaire's neck. "Can I go play now?"

"That's great, Dick," Wayne said. "But you know the rules, and I'm busy." The boy pouted, and after a moment Wayne gave in. "Fine. If you can find a cop who isn't busy guarding the entrances, and is willing to spot you, you may play."

"Yay!" The kid, Dick, jumped down off Wayne, and quickly looked around. "How many are there, not guarding entrances?"

"Just me and Montoya," Bullock told him, gesturing to his rookie partner.

Dick immediately went over to Montoya, looking up at her pleadingly. Would you spot me, Ms Montoya? Please?"

Even Bullock had to admit those eyes were utterly adorable. Very hard to say no to that level of pleading cuteness. "Okay, then," Montoya sighed. Dick's face lit up in a grin, and he grabbed her arm, leading her away.

"Don't give her a heart attack," Wayne told him, getting a quick laugh in response before the kid vanished.

"I'm missing something," Bullock mused, looking at the door.

"Yes." Wayne crossed to a safe, carefully stowing the pearls. "You see, when Dick says 'playing'-"

A quick shriek cut him off. Bullock started at the sound.

"-he means playing on the trapeze. Twenty feet up with no net."

"You let him do that?"

"Only when supervised. He's a circus kind; been doing it since he could walk."

Bullock shook his head. The tabloids didn't give a very realistic idea of how the out-of-the-blue adoption actually worked. The two common rumours, unloved charity case or illicit underage lover, were both belied by their simple, spontaneous interaction. Now it was Bullock's job to see the kid wasn't orphaned twice.

The clock struck ten; the time the attack was scheduled. There was a flash, and a bang; Wayne cried out as though stung. Bullock couldn't see anything; the flash had blinded him. He heard a dull _whumph_, a cackle of maniacal laughter, and Wayne wheezing, starting to chortle. Bullock stumbled around, and when he could see again, it was to the sight of Wayne on the floor, and the safe blown open.

The butler entered, closely followed by the boy and Montoya. Still dazed, Bullock could only watch the old guy inject Wayne with something.

And sigh with relief when the billionaire breathed normally.

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Dick ran down the passage to the cave. Bruce was safe; the anti-toxin was working in combination with his own immunities. They had an excuse for having it prepared, and Alfred had arrangements so when Bruce came round, he could slip away and suit up.

Dick had his own plans.

He ran towards one of the storage rooms, one he'd been spending some time on recently. He quickly pulled off his shirt and sweatpants, half his new outfit already in place. He quickly grabbed a belt, cape and domino mask, slipped on boots and gloves and started pulling out a spray-painted red motorbike. Returning to the main room, suited and equipped, he stuck a portable tracker-receiver to the handlebar and tuned it to the tracer they'd tricked Joker into stealing.

Heading for Judge Lake's.

He jump-started the bike. It roared into life as he rode out. "Little Robin's time to fly," he muttered, his smile spreading across his face once again.

**AN: Duh-duh-DUH! Tune in next week for the conclusion to what I call the Saga of Epic Awesomeness! Or, when I'm feeling less silly, the Origin of Robin.**

**Now, I believe that last week I was in a bit of a snit regards feedback. Sorry. While feedback does make the wheels go round, I probably could have phrased it a little more delicately. And thanks to night-batfamily, Glimare (again) and bindsy for reviewing (BTW, bindsy, Jay will turn up, just not yet). I hope all you wonderful, wonderful readers will be nice enough to leave me a review this week.**

**As always, please check out my other works; some of them seem pretty popular, some not so. Maybe try something new today. Who knows; you might just like it.**

**See you next week.**

**Katara**


	7. Chapter 7: To Comedy

**AN: I meant to mention last week. These two chapters are largely based on Batman Vol 1 #1, from Spring 1940, and the summary for a one-shot entitled "Batman: The Man Who Laughs" that was available on the DC Comics Wiki.**

**Flashback Chapter 7 …To Comedy**

Captain Gordon watched the two visitors in his office, both of whom seemed strangely pleased with themselves. Why, he had no idea, unless it was just for surviving the previous night.

"I thought you might appreciate knowing a little about what happened last night, before the papers get hold of it," he told them. "After Joker left Wayne Manor, he went to Judge Lake's," he began.

Bruce Wayne and his ward exchanged a sidelong glance.

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_The red motorbike screamed to a halt, and the rider vaulted off. He plucked from his belt a grapple Batman had discarded as too underpowered, but the ten-year-old was light enough to use it efficiently . He zipped up to the third floor of Lake's townhouse, which his tracker had identified as the bug's location._

_Inside, he could see the unconscious forms of a dozen cops, including Gordon. Lake was cowering in a corner, and a green-haired figure was leaning over him. "You know what, judgie-boy?" Joker was saying. "You've always been so interested in this city- well, what you can get from it, anyway- I think you'd like a heads-up. I'm going to put my favourite venom in the water supply. Fancy a cool glass of tap-water? One sip, and you're laughing your head off! How about a hot shower? Inhale the steam, and you'll get the joke! But don't worry, judgie-boy. I won't make you wait." With a burst of maniacal laughter, Joker squeezed the flower on his lapel, and a stream of something shot out, hitting Lake in the face- and melting it. The watcher swore silently; he'd brought more antitoxin, but that wouldn't help. He just hadn't moved quickly enough, hadn't recognized the real threat soon enough. He swore again, as Joker dropped a string of pearls. They'd hoped the clown wouldn't realise that's how they were tracking him._

_When Joker left the room, the boy slipped through the window, retrieved the necklace, checked the unconscious but unharmed cops, and returned to his bike, quickly finding and following a clumsily painted purple sedan._

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"We know Batman was present at the scene, but was unable to save Lake. However, he tracked Joker to the reservoir, where Joker attempted to poison the water."

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_Batman was almost certain Gordon had seen the edge of his cape as he left. Couldn't be helped. Focus. The Bat-computer's master tracking system told him Joker (assuming he had the tracer) had stopped for some time at Lake's; so he'd checked there rather than going straight to the tracer. It was too late for the judge, but the cops were okay._

_The tracer came to a halt, and Batman quickly tracked it to next to the reservoir._

_When he arrived, he found the pearls sitting on the seat of a bright red motorbike, a chalk arrow pointing towards the artificial lake, and no-one in sight._

_A brief examination showed no sign of the Joker, so Batman stowed the pearls in the Batmobile's glove box and headed in the direction of the arrow. As he went, he saw more, pointing onwards. With no other clues, he had no choice but to follow, and hope it wasn't a trap._

_Before long, he was approaching the narrow catwalk over the out-take pipe. There was Joker, chortling madly. Batman swung up, his usually soundless boots making a slight clang on the steel walkway. Joker turned around. "Ah, Batsy!" he cried. "Your turn for a little swim, eh, Bats?"_

"_It's over, Joker," Batman said, and that was really something that big blue Boy Scout in Metropolis would say; but he was tired, fed up and woozy from the poison. He just wanted to finish with this case, figure out what was going on with the arrows, and go home to his little boy. Trying not to worry about how Dick was coping, he advanced on the mad clown._

_Joker produced a gas gun, spraying a noxious, venom-laced smog towards Batman. Holding his breath, he produced an air-filtering breath mask from his belt while flicking a batarang at the gas gun. A vast cloud emerged as the tank ruptured. When the smoke cleared, Batman continued his advance. Joker withdrew a small pistol from his jacket._

"_Hey, laughing boy!" Batman looked past his opponent. There stood a young boy, dressed in a bright red tunic over a scaly green leotard, with green gloves and pixie boots, and a yellow cape and belt. Across his face, a green domino mask._

"_Batman, the out-take pipe," the boy said. "I'll hold Joker."_

"_And who do you think you are, kid?" Joker asked, firing at him._

_The kid cartwheeled. "I'm Robin." He used the catwalk's handrail as a vault, landing a double kick. Batman recognized the style of movement, but could hardly believe it. "B, it's poison!" Robin cried._

_Recognizing the greater threat, Batman jumped down to the pipe, found and removed the poison 'bomb'. Then he grappled back to the fighting pair, knocked out Joker with a well-timed fist to the temple, and turned to Robin._

"_Dick," he growled. "Is there any way you'll stay home and be safe?"_

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"Batman stopped Joker, and apprehended him," Gordon finished. "But I regret we were unable to recover your pearls."

Wayne smirked, and the Grayson boy pulled from underneath his shirt…the pearls. "See, Batman gave us this fake with a tracer thingy, and then we swapped 'em," he said excitedly.

Gordon stared at the kid. "Is that also how you had that anti-toxin?"

"You didn't know?" Wayne said innocently. Yup, that was clueless Brucie alright.

"Sir, who is Joker?" the boy asked curiously.

"We don't know, son. No fingerprints, no DNA on record…"

"But he had something against Judge Lake. Like he convicted him or something? Isn't that trackable?" Smart lad. Wayne smiled down at his boy as if proud of the child's intelligence.

"It's complicated." Lake was the most corrupt judge in town. Really, no great loss to the system.

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"Why 'Robin'?" Bruce asked.

"It's what Mom called me. It's 'cause of when I was born. First sign of spring."

"I'm not happy about this."

"Bruce, I can double your manpower. Watch your back. Or, I'll go solo."

Bruce stared at him, then pursed his lips and stated, "You'll be killed!"

"So could you."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Please, Bruce. You can't stop me."

Bruce crossed his arms and leveled a Look at the child that had made grown men quake in their boots. Dick met his gaze, and equaled it.

"Fine. You'll need a better suit. One that actually covers your legs."

**AN2: I'm so glad you readers have finally found the review button! Seriously, it makes me really happy. A few points from your reviews. bindsy: Jason will be showing up, just not yet. Guest: No, the Batmobile (in chapter 4) wasn't missing a wheel because of Jason. It ran over an improvised explosive device, and so Batman was using a spare Batmobile in chapter 5. Again, Jason will be making his appearance in due course. You guys really like the little rebel-bird don't you? To you other reviewers, I love you, so please don't go away!**

**That said, this concludes our little miniseries on Robin's origins. Next week I'll be back to Family Ties. It'll probably be about a month before I return to the past. Hope you don't mind too much.**

**Katara Harkness**


	8. Chapter 8: What's New, Pussy Cat?

**AN: This is based on the story "The Cat", from Batman vol 1 #1 (Spring 1940).**

**Flashback Chapter 8 What's New, Pussy Cat?**

Dick mentally reviewed the case so far. Mrs Travers, an old rich widow, had decided on a yacht party, flashing around a half-million dollar emerald necklace. For some insanely stupid reason, she had been so pleased with the idea of displaying her pricey bauble that she'd gossiped about it to numerous journalists, and got it reported in every paper in Gotham- sometimes on the front page. Even on cities with a low crime rate, that would be tempting fate. In Gotham, it was more like waving a red, bejewelled cloth at a raging, stealing bull. Bruce had been invited, but had other obligations, and so sent Dick in his place. By running around, chatting with the young stewards and generally acting his age, he had a short-list of people close to Travers and in need of money. Anyone on the ship might be tempted to make some easy money, but a handful looked especially likely. Travers' nephew, Denny, who the stewards described as a heavy borrower and 'a rat', despite escorting elderly Miss Pegg with her sprained ankle. Then there was Dr Wallace, Travers' personal physician, also a heavy borrower to cover massive gambling bets. And Travers' own brother Roger had been refused an investment for another stock market scheme after a string of losses. They all had close enough ties to know where the emerald was kept, and financial problems easily eased with five hundred thousand dollars.

He got a break when he saw Denny casually discard a scrunched-up note. Surreptitiously snatching it before it went overboard, he found a note signed 'the Cat' asking him to keep his aunt busy so he (she?) could stop by. Before he could act on it, Travers found her emerald stolen, no doubt by the mysterious Cat.

A ship with Coast Guard, markings pulled up, but instead of aid, it spewed forth modern day pirates, who demanded the necklace, no surprise given the publicity, and other valuables. Travers protested it's loss, but only angered the men, and when Dr Wallace defended her, they drew guns. Dick lunged, sending a shot at the doctor into the deck…

And getting flipped into the sea for his troubles.

While it was wonderful that Batman had enough faith in his ability to give him a solo case, even as bodyguard to an emerald, it had gotten complicated alarmingly quickly. Time for billionaire adoptee Dick Grayson to give way to Boy Wonder Robin. He gripped a magnetic handle he'd clamped onto the bottom of the hull and hit a distress signal, calling Batman. He kicked off his black leather shoes, letting them float away (because that's the first thing you do when you fall into the sea fully clothed; it would be suspicious if he still had them later), wriggled out of his suit pants, jacket and dress shirt, managing to cram them into a thin back pack pulled from his belt. His costume, red tunic with green sleeves matching skin-tight pants, was mostly in place. He pulled his cape from the lining of his jacket, the black outer contrasting the yellow inner layer that went with his belt. Sliding on green gloves, boots and mask, he was ready. All in the space of seconds. Training had really paid off.

Slipping to back pack on under his cape, he fired off his grapple, so it embedded in the armed thugs' boat, but didn't retract it. He surfaced for air, and dived again, mentally noting to ask Bruce about getting rebreathers in the belts. Two surfacings later, the boat moved off, towing Robin behind them. He was soon pulled to the surface, and retract the cord, being pulled to the boat.

He released the grapple, stowing it as he flipped onto the side of the boat. "Now, now, boys, mustn't play with guns," he said lightly, crouching and balancing on fingers and toes. "Someone might get hurt."

The men levelled their guns at him and opened fire. Batman had taught him to look at the barrels of the guns, anticipate the trajectory before the bullet is fired, and to watch the eyes for when the decision to fire is made. And he'd taught Batman a trick or two about bullet evasion.

Still, cartwheeling on the hull of a ship was _hard_.

Slight thuds, almost inaudible, were followed by cries of pain and the clatter of falling firearms. Relieved, Robin scampered forward, scooped up the dropped guns, and slipped backwards, jettisoning them over board. "Huh. You don't look so brave now," he taunted.

"Robin." Familiarity let him recognize the fond exasperation beneath the growl, and he grinned.

"Bit tied up now, B." As he said it, Robin spun out a thin rope, ducking and weaving and striking out, dancing between his foes to knock them down and tie them up. "Don't you want to play anymore, boys?" he teased before sending the last one to the land of Nod with a rabbit punch.

"Robin." Batman's patience was wearing a little thin with his fun-loving partner. "Report."

Robin quickly summarised the case, and Batman outlined the plan. They had to return the stolen valuables, hand over the thieves and flush out Denny's accomplice.

They piloted the boats in tandem back to the yacht, Batman going on ahead to return the stolen goods while Robin hauled the men onto the deck. The guests and crew were below deck. Robin slipped into position, awaited the signal, and hit a button, waiting anxiously, hoping the plan would work.

The fire alarm went off. Interestingly enough, first out the door was frail, injured Miss Pegg. Robin slammed into her, knocking her to the floor. Her wig fell off, causing other passengers to bottleneck in surprise, the alarm flicking off.

Robin looked down at her from where he knelt on her stomach. With her black hair exposed and greasepaint half-smudged off, she was really quite pretty. "Uh, woah," he murmured, momentarily smitten.

Batman glided forward, and crouched next to 'Pegg'. Twisting his head, Robin watched Batman unwind the bandage from her ankle and retrieve the stolen jewel. Just as he'd predicted.

"No! Mine!" Denny produced a pistol, and fired wild. Batman lunged, and at the distraction, the woman pulled free, leaving her dress behind. Beneath it, she was wearing a grey velvet jumpsuit with a bullwhip around her waist. She jumped overboard onto the thieves' boat, Robin in pursuit.

"I just thought it would match my eyes," she said, kicking the engine into life. "Don't you think?" She pulled up a hood with cat ears.

"Heard of you, Catwoman," Robin said, lunging.

She twisted out of the way. "And I you. The Bat's little birdie. Cats eat birds, you know?" She swung her legs, pivoting low, and Robin flipped backwards.

"Not this one!" he sang, and they fought- danced- for several minutes (so much more fun than sparring with Batman, this was much faster and three dimensional), until they were only just in sight of the yacht. Then Catwoman slid on her clawed gloves, swept out, and knocked him out of the boat.

Batman, who'd been gaining on them in his boat, fished him out. "Put on your tux," he instructed. "We'll say I retrieved Dick earlier. Catwoman's already gone. Again."

**AN2: I'm sorry this is late! Almost twenty-four hours late; sorry. It was a difficult chapter to write, I've been pretty busy lately, etc. I'll try to be better in future.**

**Now, not to be a nag, but I _know_ you loyal readers tend to be a little...reticent about reviewing. Please don't be bashful! I even love it when you ask me questions about what's going on.**

**Back the Family Ties next week, where Tim's in trouble, Bruce is out of contact, and the others are hunting assassins!**

**Katara**


	9. Chapter 9: First Days

**Flashback Chapter 9 First Days**

Dick had never really been to school before. The circus travelled, so his parents had taught him reading and writing (English as well as their native Romani), math, history, geography, a little science. Obviously, he'd learnt about motion and forces slightly differently from how he would have in the classroom. It was a little erratic, but decent enough tuition.

As the ward of Bruce Wayne, however, he needed a bit more of an education than what he could pick up between venues. Bruce, having spent most of his childhood in a boarding school (and hating every minute of it), had taken the advice of the newly-promoted Major Gordon, and chosen Roosevelt Elementary School, where Gordon's niece and recently-adopted daughter Barbara went.

It even turned out his intermittent education had enabled Dick to skip a year, going straight into 6th Grade. Apparently the long days of travelling spent with text books, and evenings at pitches with no electricity, had paid off. At least his Mom had found ways to make it fun. Except math; that always sucked.

And so, first day after Labor Day, Alfred drove him to school for the first time.

It was noisy. Dick was used to large crowds, but that was usually his audience, who he wasn't exactly part of. This was more a teeming mass of children, running, yelling, playing. Many were greeting friends they hadn't seen since before the summer vacation. Others, girls, were ogling through the bars at the kindergartners in the next door school, cooing slightly. Several soccer balls had appeared, being kicked around with great gusto.

Dick stood on the edge of the crowd, worrying his lip nervously. Since becoming a permanent resident of Wayne Manor, he'd attracted quite a bit of media attention, and it didn't sit well with him. He was used to eyes on him, first as a Flying Grayson, and now as Robin. But paparazzi after him because of his family connections? He dearly hoped none of his classmates read the tabloids. Or had talkative parents who did.

He was spared further musings by the school bell, and got caught up with the children streaming inside. After getting lost twice and asking at teacher for help, he eventually found his classroom. He walked in to a scene of only slightly less chaos than outside, if only because no-one was kicking a ball around yet.

He slipped unobtrusively into a seat near the window and waited for class to begin. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Dick kept checking his watch, and looked around, wondering if the delay was normal. Most of the children seemed oblivious, but a group of girls appeared concerned. Dick found himself making eye contact with a girl with pretty green eyes and a wealth of orangey-red hair. He blushed and looked away, pulling out a French picture book (appropriate to his very poor standard) to keep himself busy.

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Babs Gordon watched the boy for a few moments more, before turning away. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. He certainly hadn't been in her class last year.

Whoever he was, there was something about the dichotomy between the pitch-black hair and ice-blue eyes. _'If I was a painter, I'd want him as my model,'_ she thought dreamily, before shaking herself. He was clearly too shy to talk to anyone, and really quite small, and besides, he was a _boy_. Boys were loud, and usually covered in mud, and thought girls were 'yucky'. They thought hitting each other was fun, and looking nice a waste of time. Anyway, even the girls had difficulty keeping up with her grades, and at least they were _nice_ about her beating them. The boys tended to sulk. A lot.

Eventually a teacher turned up. The wrong teacher; Mrs Black from the next door classroom, who'd taught them last grade. "Good morning, class," she said. "Mr Morris was taken unexpectedly ill, so he won't be in for some time." She proceeded to call the roll, and Babs was slightly surprised when, immediately following "Gordon, Barbara" came "Grayson, Richard". The new boy. She wracked her brain for a moment before remembering. He was the circus acrobat taken in by Bruce Wayne after his parents were killed. Her uncle- Dad, she corrected herself- had also mentioned him in connection with the Zucco protection racket and Joker's crime spree.

"Now, then," the teacher said when she'd finished. "As you may have noticed, this year there's a new boy in the class. Richard, would you mind coming up to the front and telling us a bit about yourself?"

The boy got up and went to the front. "My name's Richard," he started. "I'm ten years old, but I skipped a grade. Previously I was home-schooled." He sat back down again before anyone could ask any questions.

"Thank you, Richard," Mrs Black said. "Barbara, could you help Richard settle in?" Babs nodded, familiar with the small responsibilities her teacher had given her last year, and waved at Richard. He turned slightly pink, and smiled back nervously. At least now she knew why he'd been so shy; this was his first real school.

Mrs Black was still speaking. "Now, if you'll come next door, we're going to watch _The Lion King_. Up you get."

With a babble of voices, the class got up and streamed out. Babs hung back so she ended up next to Richard. He was slipping a picture book in his bag. Strange choice of reading material, considering he'd skipped a grade.

"Richard? I'm Barbara. My friends call me Babs," she said by way of introduction.

"Um, hi," he stuttered, following the rest of the class beside her. "Nice to meet you."

"Have you seen _The Lion King_ many times before?"

"No, never," Richard muttered, unwilling to strike up conversation.

Babs stayed near him as they all sat down and the movie started. Soon, she was lost in the story.

She was swiftly drawn back to the room at a flurry of movement, just as Mufasa fell to his death. Richard had leapt up and run out of the classroom.

**AN: This is the first of three parts in this mini-arc. So we will follow directly on next week.**

**Two things. First, I'm not sure I got the school and grade right. I _think_ it's at least possible, but if it's a bit off, please consider it artistic licence. Second, I'd like to point out that at this stage, Dick and Babs are _not_ in love. They've spoken all of four sentences to each other. And be serious, they are ten and eleven respectively. At that age, you might be friends with teh opposite gender, but you generally keep to your own circles. See paragraph two in Babs' POV. They're too young for a romantic relationship, so while they're together in _Family Ties_, please remember that they're a decade older. Sorry if this seems a little firm, but I don't want you to be disappointed when they completely fail to snog next chapter.**

**As always, reviews much appreciated. PLEASE REVIEW. And I will try to answer any questions you may have.**

**Until next week.**

**Katara**


	10. Chapter 10: Out of the Frying Pan

**Flashback Chapter 10 Out of the Frying Pan**

Dick hugged his knees close to his chest and closed his eyes. That had been unexpected. The teacher's absence kinda made sense once he'd heard the name (William Morris had been one of the victims of Scarecrow's rampage last night), but the movie. It was almost too realistic, although he didn't need clumsy sound effects to hear the hard, fatal impact of flesh and bone. He wondered if he'd had the same expression as Simba, watching his parents fall.

No, he _couldn't_ spend his life avoiding all reminders. It was just…too soon, and too sudden.

"Richard?" a voice called, and he turned, seeing Barbara Gordon approach. "What are you doing on the roof?"

"Dick," he grumbled, not thinking, unhappy that she'd disrupted his solitude. "Short for Richard," he amended, seeing her hurt look.

"Oh. Your parents must have been old-fashioned." She sat down beside him, ankles dangling over the edge. "Why are you up here? I didn't even know that fire escape led here."

"I wasn't thinking," he admitted. He'd just wanted to run.

She shrugged. "Okay. Want to talk about why you ran off?"

"No," he said shortly, staring moodily into the distance, seeing instead the ring.

There was silence for a few minutes. "Did you like the songs?" Babs asked, clearly struggling for a topic.

Dick shrugged. "Nice music, not sure about the lyrics. But I guess Simba got what he wanted. He's king now."

"Nah, Scar guilt-tripped him into running away," Babs explained. "He meets a meerkat and a warthog, and embraces a life of no responsibilities and no concerns. Meanwhile, Scar runs the pride into ruin. Eventually Nala runs off to find a new alpha male, and finds Simba. They fall in love, go back to the Rock, and defeat Scar. Simba becomes king and soon has a cub of his own."

"Happily ever after," Dick snorted.

"Well…until the sequel."

"You're kidding. Seriously?" Dick shook his head. "Guess I've missed a lot."

"Your parents didn't show you many movies?"

"No, we didn't have a TV." Dick frowned, picking up on something. "Why are you speaking of my parents in the past tense?"

Babs squirmed. "Dad told me they were…um…"

"Murdered?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You're James Gordon's daughter and niece?" Babs nodded. "Sorry for your loss."

"I'm coping," she shrugged. "I generally just don't think about it."

"I haven't quite reached that stage," Dick admitted. He sighed. Everyone always said talking about it helps, so maybe he should give it a go. "You know I used to be part of a circus? We were the trapeze act. It was my first night performing without a safety net, and some _bastard_ put acid on the rope."

He could see understanding in Babs' eyes. "I was terrified of cars for a bit," she said, "after that drunk crashed into Mom and Dad. Best advice I ever got was 'yeah, it hurts, but don't just wallow in it'. Took a while, but I pulled through. I'm sure you will, too."

"Yeah, I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "Is it wrong to wish I'd loved them less, just so it hurts less now they're gone?"

"I guess that's just part of being human," Babs said.

Dick hmm'ed, still staring into the distance. He focused on something and frowned. He rose to his feet, trying to see better. "Babs, you see that?"

She also stood, following his gaze. "Those guys on the playing field?"

"You've been to school more than I have; is that normal?"

"Um, no," Babs squinted, trying to get a better look. "What're they carrying?"

"Looks like…" Dick strained to see as they approached. "Damn. Guns."

"School invasion?!" Babs gasped. "Dad said, we have to hide-"

"That's one lone whacko stretched to breaking point," Dick snapped. "Not a team. And look at them; they mean business. I'd bet anything they have specific target."

The men were advancing, and had a co-ordinated look to them. Dick prayed Babs would pick up on it so they could do something. But what?

"What they gonna do?!" Babs asked, panicking slightly.

"Kill? Kidnap? Steal? Do we really need to know right now?" Dick thought quickly. "We need to evacuate. Where's the fire assembly point?"

"Playground on the…" Comprehension dawned. "Other side of the building."

"Hit the fire alarm," Dick instructed. "I'll distract them."

"Distract them? How?"

He grinned for the briefest second. "Where do you keep sports gear?"

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Babs really should have taken Dick's advice and merged into the crowd. Instead, she was hitting tennis balls at the men chasing her new friend. One of them turned, raising his gun.

Babs muttered a word she really shouldn't know, and drop-served her last ball in his general direction. By sheer co-incidence it hit his hand, and he dropped his fire-arm. Dick turned to his pursuers, dropped into a crouch and swept his lacrosse stick in an arc. Two of the men tumbled, and Babs felt the desire to whoop, but two gunshots rang out, making them freeze, one bullet lading near Dick, the other whizzing past her ear.

The leader stepped forward, swinging his gun between the two children. As he approached, Dick tensed, then whacked him in the face with the stick. A minute's scuffling later, Babs was held by two men, gun to the back of her head, and the boss was holding Dick up by the scruff of his neck, half-choking him.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now, brat?" the boss hissed.

Dick spluttered, and Babs supplied a reason. "He's Wayne's kid," she yelled.

"And you're Gordon's brat. The cops wouldn't risk getting you hurt," the boss said. "You made us lose our target, but, well, meal ticket and security blanket will do."

A pad of wet cloth was pressed to Babs' face, and she smelled something sickly-sweet. She caught sight of the boss smacking the butt of his gun in to Dick's head, and the boy collapsing. Then everything went black.

**AN: What, you didn't think it would be an _ordinary_ first meeting? :D**

**This chapter is currently un-beta'd, but will be replaced when it's been looked through. There's just one more chapter in this mini-arc. As you can probably deduce, they both survive; but will Batman or Gordon rescue them first?**

**As always, reviews, PMs, questions, love ya all, pleasepleaseplease feedback.**

**Conclusion next week. See you then.**

**Katara**


	11. Chapter 11: Capture and Corruption

**Flashback Chapter 11 Capture and Corruption**

Babs shifted in her bindings, hands uncomfortably tied behind her back as she sat on the hard concrete floor she and Dick Grayson were locked in. The boy was still unconscious, slumped against the opposite wall.

He stirred, moaned, and muttered a long string of syllables before opening his eyes. "Barbara?" he croaked, focussing on her. "Where are we?"

"We were already here when I woke up," Babs explained. "The boss-type guy said he's sending a note telling Bruce Wayne to pay half a million dollars, and if the police interfere, they'll shoot me."

"'Least they have a use for us," Dick muttered. He shifted, and after a moment had worked his bound hands to behind his knees. He passed his feet through the loop of his arms and stood, coming over to kneel beside her. "Turn around," he instructed, and quickly unpicked the rope on her wrists.

"How did you do that?" Babs asked, working on Dick's bindings.

"There was an escapologist at Haly's a while back," he shrugged. "I picked up a bit, mostly the twisting."

"Oh. What now?" she asked as the last rope fell to the floor.

Dick nodded to the door. "Is that just locked? 'Cause I've heard you can pick locks with hairpins…"

Babs reached around her head and pulled out some hair slides decorated with green butterflies I'm thinking of the kind of slide we'd call curby grips from near her pony tail. "These do?"

As neither of them had picked a lock before, it took quite some fumbling before the door lay open in front of them. It opened into a vast warehouse half-full of crates. Along one side were several doors into smaller rooms, like their cell. Gesturing for Babs to stay, Dick crept along, looking in keyholes before opening a door and beckoning. Babs joined him in a small office. Dick pointed to the phone. "Can you call your Dad?" he whispered.

She nodded and picked up the handset, punching in the number for her father's office. After a tense minute of the dialling tone, she finally heard his gruff voice. _"Gordon."_

"Dad?" she whispered. "It's me."

"_Barbara!"_ Dad exclaimed. _"Where are you? Are you alright? Is Grayson with you?"_

"Yes, Dick's here, and we're both fine," she replied. "But I don't know where 'here' is. A warehouse of some sort."

"_Alright, keep talking. We're just tracing the call now."_

"Um…" Babs bit her lip, trying to think f what to say. "The guys who took us said something about losing a target?"

"_We pulled some CCTV,"_ her dad explained. _"Those men work for a mob boss known as Penguin. One of Penguin's associates turned himself in last week, wanted to make a plea got him, if you ask me. But his daughter's third grade at Roosevelt. You were unlucky enough to be in the way."_

Dick snorted quietly. "I'd say we were actually quite fortunate. If it were anyone else, they'd be dead."

There was a pause on the ther end of the phone. _"Is that what you were counting on when you attacked them with a lacrosse stick?"_

"Oh, is that what the net-on-a-stick thing's called?" he muttered.

"How do you _not know that_?" Babs whispered.

"I'm an acrobat, not an athlete," he retorted.

"_We have your location,"_ Dad interrupted. _"I need you two to hide and not come out until we tell you. Can you do that?"_

Babs frowned. Dick grinned. "I've got the perfect place," he murmured.

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Catching the kidnappers was easier than anticipated. They were caught completely by surprise, playing poker in one of the side rooms. Just one thing left for Gordon to do. "We need to find the children," he instructed his men. "I told them to hide until we tell them to come out, so it shouldn't be too difficult." They were about to start examining the crates for child-sized nooks and crannies, when a girlish giggle rang through the room.

Gordon looked this way and that for his daughter, but there was no sign of her. After a moment, he heard the Grayson boy's voice. "Told you. No-one ever looks up."

He looked up, and up. Peering back from the shadowy rafters, two emerald green eyes, two of ice blue. One of the sergeants voiced the question that were all thinking. "How the hell did they get up there?"

"Do you want us to come down now?" Grayson asked, standing poised on the edge of the beam, at least twenty feet up, it seemed.

"No!" Gordon barked, trying not to imagine having to explain to Wayne how he let the boy jump that kind of distance. He started issuing his orders. "You, call Wayne, Tell him the situation. And you lot find a ladder."

The next twenty minutes involved the kidnappers being taken away, the children sulking, and the complete failure to locate a long enough ladder. They were considering calling the fire service, when Bruce Wayne arrived. He took one look, and sighed. "Aren't you coming down?" he asked his ward.

Grayson bounced to his feet. "As you wish," he beamed, and jumped. Speechless, everyone watched in shock as the boy somersaulted, flipped against one crate, pivoted off another, and landed with a flourish. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you've been a wonderful audience," he said, grinning.

Gordon looked from the boy on the ground, to his daughter in the rafters. "Barbara, don't to that," he told her firmly, desperately hoping she'd listen and not try to copy the stunt.

"Not gonna," Babs sighed. "Here, Dick." She threw out a rope, and it snaked down to the floor. Gordon stared at it for a moment. If they'd had a rope all along, why didn't they use it to climb down?

Grayson seized the rope, and tied the end to a door knob, leaving the line at a slant. Up above, Babs jumped, sliding down the make-shift zipline. "That was awesome!" she squealed as she landed. "High five!"

The children slapped palms together, wide grins on their faces. Over their heads, Gordon and Wayne locked eyes. Wayne sighed. "I'm sorry, sir," Wayne said wearily. "But I think he's corrupted her."

**AN: Barbara is the daughter of the Police Commissioner (not yet, but soon). A perfectly respectable position in society. So what happened to make her a Bat? Clearly, someone corrupted her. How about a certain young acrobat?**

**And here ends the mini-arc. Please, _please_ review it. We'll be returning to the present for some time. It's time for a rescue.**

**See you in Family Ties.**

**Katara**


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